


Redo

by ryukoishida



Series: Sunlight Frenzy. Endless Tales. [20]
Category: Arslan Senki | Heroic Legend of Arslan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, I'm Sorry, M/M, SO SORRY
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-10 06:33:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6943681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryukoishida/pseuds/ryukoishida
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If calling his name can instil a drop of life into that cruel, still body, Daryun would call for him again and again. </p><p>Prompt: Crying</p>
            </blockquote>





	Redo

**Author's Note:**

> Um. Character death. UMM. But also reincarnation AU. I’M SORRY. BLAME IT ON ANON.

“Empires rise and fall, but art is the one thing that will remain for eternity.”

 

Daryun had laughed at him, then – loud and ringing clear and obviously with a teasing undertone that he didn’t bother to conceal. “I bet people will burn any paintings with your signature on them, if they know any better.”

 

Narsus had sent him a glare, much like any other times when the two men closest to King Arslan’s entourage could be found arguing about the same old topic once more; the court painter and tactician was entirely outraged that his best friend for over a decade had made such a condescending comment regarding art – his art, in particular.

 

“One day, Daryun, one day, you’ll regret ever mocking my art,” Narsus pointed an accusing finger at the dark-haired knight, who only laughed harder, body shuddering and spine curving forward.

 

-

 

Inside the tent where his body rests – motionless, unbreathing, but nevertheless a transcendently beautiful figure sung and praised in romantic songs – Daryun kneels down on both knees by the cot that holds his beloved, his head lowered partly out of respect and partly because he can’t bear to see Narsus like this.

 

Seeing is confirming the truth, and the truth will blow out the last glimmer of hope in his heart: the unreasonable desire that this is merely a nightmare, a trick of Narsus’ creation, such that at any time, his companion will blink his eyes open and smirk at him like he always does, like he intends

 

They have tidied him up as much as they could, wiping away all traces of blood – his and the enemies’ – so that he seems almost peaceful, with his eyes closed and mouth lax, like he’s simply asleep.

 

It’s a slumber which he will never wake up from; an eternal dream.

 

Daryun’s mind plays back all those times when they would bicker about the smallest matters, painfully insignificant, neither of them aware of what their future holds, only setting their sights on becoming Arslan’s wings as he ascends the throne of Pars – the rightful and true ruler of this kingdom. Other things didn’t matter.

 

When the times became too difficult – companions killed in battle, slaughtered by Zahhak’s battalion of monsters – they had each other, and no tears were ever shed. They need to remain strong for their king, for the soldiers and knights who believe in them, and so they stand tall, shoulder-to-shoulder, together, united.

 

“Your art is still absurdly terrible, mind you. But,“ his voice trembles in the near-darkness, the hoarse and helpless whisper almost unrecognizable as his own, “I’ve always admired that side of you, too, you know. You just – you just refuse to give up… Narsus…”

 

If calling his name can instil a drop of life into that cruel, still body, Daryun would call for him again and again.

 

He reaches a trembling hand out to cover Narsus’ that are crossed over the middle of his chest. Close to his heart.

 

The skin is cold and stiff now, and Daryun is stung with a horrifying pang of reality. That this man before him – a man he has the fortune to know so well and intimately, a man who has opened up to him and let him in in his most fragile state, a man whom Daryun would call his soul mate, if he wants to get laughed at in the face by the tactician himself – he is not in this world anymore.

 

And Daryun feels a part of himself breaks inside, tangible pieces of the spiraled structure that Narsus’ constant presence has added into his heart over the long years – the dabs of coloured glass, outrageous high but elegant arches – being lacerated into irreparable fragments, forever lost.

 

He can’t see clearly what’s in front of him anymore, his sight blurred and distorted into meaningless waves refracting candlelight, and Daryun feels himself fall forward.

 

He wakes when he senses the first trace of tears streaming down his cheeks.

 

-

 

He wakes with warm tears still rolling from the corner of his closed eyes down the bridge of his nose, a trail leading down over the swell of his cheekbone and soaking the fabric of the pillowcase.

 

The room is dark and strange when Daryun opens his eyes blearily, as he tries to blink back remnants of his tears. His chest rises and falls in the silence; his heart, bound by the palpable threads of reality, is beating erratically from his dreams.

 

His past. _Their_ past.

 

He turns to his side, an arm reaching out instinctively towards the other side of the bed, and his fingertips find the familiar shape of the other man’s body.

 

A small moan tells Daryun that he’s been awoken, and he twists around under the blanket to face Daryun, a crown of disheveled gold hair framing his face as he opens his eyes, violet gaze unfocused for a small moment in which Daryun can breathe out a relieved laugh. The sensation of Narsus’ solid, living body within his embrace is enough to push back the last traces of his dreams into the dark corners of his mind.

 

“Daryun, what’s wrong?” Narsus drags a soft thumb along Daryun’s cheek, fingertip becoming damp. “Were you crying?”

 

 “I dreamed of our past – of when you died fighting for Pars, for our King.” His arms around Narsus tighten, and he allows it – doesn’t question it. “I felt so alone without you. For so many years after that.”

 

“It’s all right now, Daryun. I’m here, and I’ll always be here for you,” Narsus says, a gentle smile lighting up his eyes as he touches his forehead against his lover’s, warm breaths fanning across Daryun’s skin with a familiar tenderness. “Everything’s all right now.”

 

Daryun believes him.


End file.
